I Come In Peace
by eldritchMortician
Summary: When the Question's new partner ends up on the wrong side of an exploding transporter the League mounts a rescue, but the outcome, on all sides, is a very large question indeed. Action, drama, romance, angst and even a little humor. Q&OC M for later chaps
1. Chapter 1

_Author's notes: I don't own any of the Justice League. I wish I did (especially the Question!). But there you go. Please don't sue me. Also, this is, if you didn't get it from the summary, a fic with an OC. Deal with it, or don't read! See Huntress: Cry for Blood to find out why it's not a Question/Huntress fic. Hope you enjoy anyhow. Thanks for reading, please R/R. Nothing M rated in this chapter, but there's more adult content to come in later chapters._

* * *

It was an accident–an utter, stupid accident. Foxglove dodged a fraction too slow. She berated herself bitterly for it, but the fact remained that Luthor's transporter device blew up and took her with it. She sat up, rubbing her head, and peered out through the eyes of her Japanese Fox mask. The green lenses analyzed her surroundings. The air was breathable–obviously. The terrain seemed rather Earth-like. Perhaps she hadn't gone far. 

The dual suns put an end to that particular theory and she sighed, dusting off the sleeves of her long, black army-coat. Hell. Batman was going to kill her. She wasn't even part of the official strike force for that mission, she'd just been in the area on patrol and offered her help. Never volunteer for anything. Good advice from a friend; she wished she had listened. She found an elastic and tied back the fake hair that attached to the mask, swapping her short, wavy brown hair for long, stick-straight black. The mask would filter if it sensed anything amiss, and the eyes fed her information, so she didn't remove it. It was so much better than her original one, a simple kevlar affair. Batman and J'Onn had helped her with the tweaks, and she was grateful for them now more than ever. She sighed, shoving her hands in the pockets of her overcoat. Civilization . . . that was a thought. If she could find a Green Lantern member, everything would be golden. She wondered what her chances of that were. She hoped that the League hadn't written her off as atomized. It would be damned awkward to come back and find out they'd buried an empty casket and set her up a tombstone. They'd only just gotten around to dismantling Superman's memorial.

She sighed and started walking. The other possibility was that she'd get eaten by something on the planet. Or starve or thirst to death. The compass on her watch spun madly, and therefore was no help at all. Even the digital one hidden in her belt read blank. She frowned, and headed toward the more yellow of the setting suns, hoping the planet wasn't in some sort of insane orbit and that the direction was fairly constant. Either way it was uncomfortably warm, and she unbuttoned the coat, and even her Chinese-style shirt partway. She sweated under her mask, but tried to ignore it.

She'd known better than to get that close. But there was an opening in the guard's defense, and she'd rushed in, taking it. She hadn't been thinking of anything but the fight, to the exclusion of the machine that had a green arrow lodged in its workings. Someone had yelled . . . she thought it had been J'Onn, and she dodged, throwing the guard out of the way first . . . that was what slowed her down. He hadn't arrived with her, so she assumed he'd made it out of the explosion without being flung through the galaxy. It seemed she was the lucky winner in the transporter-roulette.

The terrain was disturbingly bare. She'd have preferred a forest, something with some cover. Being out in the open never sat well with her; she even tended to find a table in a corner in the League's cafeteria. She liked to have her back to the wall, and everyone around her in view. It wasn't even a trait instilled in her by hanging around Batman. She'd always been that way.

It was nearly three hours when the sun she was following started to dip below the horizon, and it began to cool down. She guessed that at a jog she'd covered nine or ten miles with nothing to show for it. She sighed, sitting on a rock for a moment. She'd picked an easily followed direction, but could be heading into open desert. Or, alternately, the whole damn planet could be open desert. Either way, she needed water if she hoped to survive long. No cover from the suns, no water, no plant life . . . things were looking rather grim. She hoped her accidental transport could have been tracked . . . though there was no telling how long it might take to travel here. And what _was_ that annoying buzzing noise?

She was moving a split second later as the transport zoomed into view. The occupants of the dark vehicle didn't appear to be friendly or happy, and they bristled with weaponry. Still, one couldn't always judge, and she hesitated just long enough for a shot to ricochet off the rock she'd been sitting on. She deemed them hostile at that point, but there was nowhere to go. She ran, zigzagging, but a blast found her, nailing her in the back and sending her into an impromptu somersault. She landed on her back, dizzy, her body numb, and not obeying her attempts to move it. She heard the aliens muttering to one another as they approached, weapons pointed. Good tactic, she thought, dimly. They weren't assuming she was harmless after being hit once . . . They came cautiously into view. Humanoid, it seemed. Vaguely upswept faces, blueish gray skin, very bright amber eyes. Long limbs and fingers. They eyed her suspiciously, and one reached for her mask. She couldn't even muster the strength to speak and tell him it was a bad idea. The shock was painful, as was obvious by the look on his face, but not remotely harmful; one of Batman's contributions. Still, it was unwelcome, leading to a string of what sounded like cursing. His fellows laughed at him, moving to pick her up, and drag her onto the transport, dropping her roughly on her face, and cuffing her hands behind her. So much for 'I come in peace.'

They left her there on the floor of the transport for the duration of the ride, and no one spoke. She moved once, experimentally and was shot with another stunner. Things did not bode well. She wondered if she'd have been better off wandering the desert.

**xXxXxXx**

As was usual, Batman was the first to notice something was missing once the smoke cleared. Superman had Luthor, who was complaining bitterly and promising dire revenge. Flash was dusting himself off, Green Arrow was helping Black Canary up, J'Onn phased through the wall, untouched . . . Batman narrowed his eyes, moving closer to the broken transporter and examining the depression in the floor in front of it. There was no debris. He frowned. "Foxglove?" He called out. No reply. He frowned deeply as Flash skidded to a stop next to him.

"What's wrong . . . ?" He began, frowning at the wreckage and beginning to look worried. "Hey . . . Fox?" He looked at the wreckage of the machine, the gouge where the floor and presumably anything else in the way had vanished. "What . . . where is she . . . ?"

Batman ignored him and turned to the Martian. "J'Onn, can you contact her?"

J'Onn frowned, worriedly, and his eyes flashed orange for a long moment, his brow knitting. "I . . . cannot . . . " He said, slowly. He turned toward Luthor, who was looking on with a sort of detached interest. "Where would this transport have taken her?" He asked, calmly.

Lex smirked, shrugging cheerfully. "No idea." He practically chirped. "She was probably disintegrated." Superman's fingers tightened on Lex's shoulders.

Batman loomed nearer. "No debris. And it's a transporter. She went somewhere and I'm asking you nicely where." He growled.

It appeared Lex wasn't entirely unaffected by Batman, and he looked momentarily cowed before regaining his bravado. "There's no telling. Not with the arrow lodged in it." He looked significantly at Green Arrow, who narrowed his eyes.

Batman took another looming step forward. "Then you'll tell me how to track it." He said. It wasn't a question.

**xXxXxXx**

So far, Foxglove had told her interrogators her name, but the tone and angle of the questions they were barking at her disinclined her to tell them more than that, even that her arrival had been accidental.

She sat facing the blue-skinned military man across a table, staring at him through the green lenses of her mask. It was clear they weren't looking for information to help her get home; the questions centered on where she came from, military capabilities, and her 'faction', its members and their strengths and weaknesses. They'd searched her, taken her coat and belt, even her boots, leaving her in the black, mandarin-collar shirt and slacks she wore under her jacket. Unfortunately this put all her gear into their hands. They even found the lockpick kit she'd had up her sleeve.

"This is the final time I'll ask." Said her interrogator, angrily. "We know you came here from another planet. We monitored the disturbance that brought you. Where did you come from? What are the planet's defenses? What are their weaknesses?"

She stared at him, coolly. It sounded like they were looking to invade an easy target. Or make an easy target by knowing weaknesses. Either way they wouldn't be getting their information from her.

The interrogator sat back with a sigh, frowning. "All right. Allow us to convince you." He nodded to the guard at the door, who stepped over and grabbed her arm, stun gun at the ready. The interrogator nodded slightly. "Take her below. We haven't got time for games."

She didn't care for the sound of that. Below seemed never to be a good direction to go when in enemy hands. Usually worse than a tower. Indeed, the area they arrived in after she was dragged down the stairs was not at all welcoming. It was dark, close, and cold. They dumped her into a cell with her arms still cuffed behind her, and shut the windowless door, leaving her in pitch darkness. The mask adjusted as best it could, but there was nothing to look at but bare metal walls, a floor, and a ragged blanket in the corner. She frowned, leaning her back against the wall, and asked herself a very important question.

What would Batman do?


	2. Chapter 2

_Welcome to part 2! All usual warnings apply: I don't own Justice League and suing me would be a waste of time 'cause I have no money. I really really enjoy writing JLU Question, the guy's nuts! Hope someone decides to review soon, I'm lonely!!! Also, guess I should have mentioned this is a post-Destroyer fic. Not that it too much matters, but, there you go.  
_

* * *

Everyone was quiet as they headed back to the Watchtower. It would take some time to track where Foxglove had been sent. Until then they had no idea if she was in Tokyo, in which case she was likely perfectly content to wait, or if she'd been transported into deep space. Flash was doing his best to keep optimistic. Superman, Batman, and J'Onn were silent, which eventually had the effect of squelching the majority of conversation. After several long moments Flash was unable to keep his peace. The quiet was oppressive and made him feel like it was a funeral. 

"So . . . Someone's going to have to let her partner know Fox got misplaced." He ventured.

Green Arrow groaned, loudly. "Oh god. Don't remind me. Can't we just bring her back without bringing him into this? It'll be a repeat of the Huntress breakup debacle."

Black Canary rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

Arrow gave her a glare. "You aren't the one he accused of stealing his pants and replacing them with larger sizes after he didn't eat for two weeks because he was busy triangulating crop circles and nanites." He growled. "And you also aren't the one he punched in the jaw for suggesting he work through his feelings instead of burying them in his conspiracy theories."

Flash glanced up. "Actually you said he should stop moping like a kid, quit acting crazy and get over the damn psychotic broad." He corrected.

"I don't recall it that way." Arrow replied, sourly.

Flash smirked. "Whatever you say. Besides, they aren't dating, are they?"

Canary frowned a little. "I . . . don't know." She said, uncertainly.

"I thought you girls knew about this stuff." Smirked Arrow.

She glared at him. "You can't tell how people are looking at each other if one has her eyes behind a mask and the other hasn't got any at all."

"We're docking." Called Batman from the front, interrupting any further speculation as the ship moved smoothly into the hangar, and the hatch slid open.

"I'll let you know when I find something out." Batman said, shortly, sweeping past them all in a swirl of midnight cape.

Superman nodded. "I'll contact GL, if we have to do any space travel we'll want him along . . . " He looked questioningly at J'Onn, whose brow was knit, worriedly.

The Martian nodded slightly. "I shall speak to the Question." He said, quietly.

xXxXxXx

The Question's room was a study in organized chaos. He knew precisely where every clipping, file, book, photo and item was, and how it related to any other item in the room, though the state wasn't readily apparent to anyone just walking in. It was the way he worked–everything spread out so that he could access it quickly. This was why he didn't care for visitors when his files were in use. Invariably someone moved something and upset the whole thing. He kept the bed cleaned off for seating, but few people were able to keep their hands to themselves, particularly the first time they entered. It was one of the things he liked about his partner. Foxglove didn't touch anything, she didn't move anything, and she didn't ask him how he could find anything in this mess, which eliminated three major pet peeves.

He carefully stacked several articles about a major software company on the desk next to the articles about UFO sightings he planned to cross-reference with them, and loosened his tie, glancing at his watch. Nearly nine. Foxglove had gone patrolling due to a tip she'd frightened out of an informant, and was supposed to be back soon. She'd mentioned some items she found that she thought he'd take an interest in, and she'd also mentioned dinner, if he remembered correctly. Or, more accurately, a drink before dinner. She could drink with her mask on, somehow or another, but she had yet to take the thing off in front of anyone. She got her food, and went back to her room with it. It didn't particularly bother him; he wasn't one for going without his own mask after all. Mutual respect for one another's quirks made for a good working relationship, and fostered a friendship.

Not knowing quite what she'd be bringing, he decided to pause in his filing and leave everything out, just in case she'd found something he hadn't taken into account yet. The coffee had gone cold in the black Area 51 mug Fox had given him, knowing he'd find the cheerfully waving alien picture amusing considering that in 1977 the aliens had been relocated to a sub-basement of Fort Knox, and all that was in Area 51 nowadays was gold and (more importantly) Illuminati artifacts. He was about to wash out the mug when there was a tap at the door.

It wasn't Foxglove. She rapped smartly, three times only. This was a soft series of taps. Question frowned under his faceless mask as he headed to the door. It was rare that anyone but his partner knocked at his door, so he was suspicious when it happened. His apprehension grew when he found J'Onn standing in the hallway. General paranoia tended to spill into personal paranoia, and seeing someone who had never before paid him a visit in place of the person he was expecting caused a swift and terrible leap of deduction.

"What happened to Fox?" He demanded, before the Martian could even begin.

J'Onn frowned, and hesitated. "We . . . are not certain yet." He said. He was standing stiffly, but it was hard to decide if it was worry, or if it was just the way he was. "Luthor's transporter malfunctioned. Batman is tracking the path. We do not believe the transporter harmed her, only moved her."

Question paused a long moment, giving the impression of staring at J'Onn hard. "Where?" He said, quietly. "Next town over, across the country . . . " he paused, his voice tight "Space?"

J'Onn frowned. "We are . . . tracking. Her communicator is either out of range or damaged. When we know where to find her, we will go immediately."

The Question tightened and straightened his tie, grabbing his overcoat and hat, silently, giving himself time to think. Perhaps the malfunction of whatever blew had sent her only a short distance. She'd be dreadfully annoyed, but his partner would be unharmed.

But when did things ever work out like that? From the careful way the Martian was wording his answers, it stood to reason that the machine had the potential to send her anywhere. He had faith in her ability to keep herself alive if she landed somewhere with an inhospitable climate . . . assuming she was conscious . . . but if the trajectory was truly awry . . . no amount of survival skills would help if she'd gotten tossed somewhere she couldn't breathe. He tried not to think about that. "We should be ready to move, then." He said, shortly, stepping into the hallway.

J'Onn regarded the faceless man a moment, and nodded, turning without a word to lead the way.

xXxXxXx

Foxglove hung limp from the shackles, fighting to draw breath. She couldn't even make sense of the questions being shouted at her; all she could hear was the crack of the lash against her skin and her own screams. They'd stripped her of all but the mask which they couldn't remove. She'd been kicked and beaten viciously in response to the shock the jailer had received from it, even before they hung her by her wrists. Her back was burning agony from shoulders to knees.

She couldn't answer their questions if she wanted to. Voices blurred, darkness threatened at the edges of her vision. She bit back a sob, panting raggedly. It took several moments to realize the whipping had stopped. A hand took the muzzle of her mask, cupping her chin, and tipped her face upward, and she looked into eyes filled with false sympathy. This jailer had stood by the door, she realized, sluggishly. The other was still behind her. The one who was hurting her. This one smoothed her faux hair, cooed at her.

"Poor sweet girl . . . " He said, softly. "You're very brave. Very brave indeed." He caressed the mask, gently.

Good cop, she realized. She'd played this game before. It was harder with the Question; they'd never quite worked out which of them was 'good cop'. With Batman . . . well, anyone else was 'good cop' by default. She closed her eyes a moment, fighting against herself. She wanted it to stop. The pain, the screaming. She wanted to not be exposed, naked and helpless.

"Just a little bit. That's all we want. If you just give me something . . . anything . . . I can make him stop. I'll clean you up, I'll bandage you. You have to be cold, and hungry . . . I'll help you if you let me." He said, gently.

She opened her eyes, slowly, looking up and seeing the hunger there, the coldness, the false sympathy. If she told him anything . . . that would put her friends in that much more danger. That would put the Question in that much more danger. That would put the Earth in that much more danger. She swallowed, throat raw from screaming. "Go . . . to hell." She panted, softly.

The man's eyes went cold and dead, and he stepped back. "I'm sorry you don't want my help." He said, coldly, and the pain and screaming started again.

Foxglove woke in her cell, shivering and barely able to move. She was uncovered, blood had pooled on the cold metal under her, dried there. Pulling away from the floor hurt in a hundred places.

God it was cold, and moving . . . moving was blinding agony. She moaned, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth against a wave of nausea. She wasn't taking off the mask. Losing that, she'd be truly naked. So, she realized, swallowing bile, she couldn't let herself vomit in it. It took a great deal of effort and pain to make it to the threadbare blanket on the floor next to her, which at least blocked some of the cold from the floor. She closed her eyes, panting.

She'd told them nothing. She had no idea how long they tortured her, how many times they paused so that 'good cop' could try and coax something from her. Every time she wanted to make it stop. Every time she thought instead of her partner, and her mentor, and she told her tormentor to go to hell. She hadn't expected to wake up. When the darkness had finally taken her completely, she'd been grateful, thinking it was likely all over with. Now . . . she lay in the cold cell, unable to do anything about the warm blood she felt trickling from reopened wounds.

What would Batman do? Her mentor would be stronger than this. He'd have already escaped. Already have found a way. She closed her eyes against the threatening tears. It seemed reasonable to assume she would die here. That the aliens were already tracking her path back to Earth, with plans to invade. What was left, was the hope that she could hold out. That she could continue telling them to go to hell until her body gave out entirely.

She smiled, grimly. They'd have quite the surprise waiting on Earth.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks SO much for the reviews! Reviews make me happy! I'm glad people are reading and enjoying this story. I hesitated for a long time about putting it up, but I'm glad I went for it. Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, and thanks, DC, for not suing me yet!_

_On a more personal note. It's been a scary couple days. Both my parents work at Virginia Tech, and living six hours away and working night shift, I didn't hear about the shooting there until almost five in the evening on 4/16. Completely forgot that they were out of town, and not at work. I count myself and them VERY lucky. And my heart goes out to everyone who was affected directly or indirectly by this tragedy._

_Thanks for putting up with my little speech. Here's the story, hope you all enjoy.  
_

* * *

The Question was agitated; J'Onn didn't need a psychic probe to tell him that. It was written in the stiff posture he held, the tightness of gloved hands and folded arms as he waited impatiently for Batman to come up with results. It was awkward, no one quite knew what to say to him. Flash tried reassuring him that Foxglove was probably fine and hanging out at a restaurant somewhere waiting to be picked up, but got no response except what may very well have been a glare, or may just as likely been a grateful glance. Wonder Woman was the only one who actually approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly, saying something quiet to him that prompted a soft "thank you." It seemed forever before Batman turned back to them. 

"We have three possibilities." He said, his expression closed. "One is in northern Canada, the second mid Siberia . . ."

The Question made a small noise. "She hates being cold." He said, quietly, and looked up at Batman. "The third?"

Batman frowned slightly, pulling up a map of the solar system . . . and zoomed out. "The next system over." He said, indicating a binary star system. One planet flashed, and information flowed. "Lahthe. Extremes of heat and cold in the day and night cycle, but within tolerance levels. Breathable atmosphere."

J'Onn was frowning slightly. "The last reports had it that the inhabitants were warlike and looked to conquer other worlds." He said, quietly. "They hadn't developed sufficient technology at last report, but that was . . . some time ago."

Green Lantern nodded slightly. "There was some purposeful misdirection in that department. Hoping they'd work the thirst for conquest out of their systems before things developed too far. And a few rumors about the strength of offworld military to discourage random attacks once they _did_ have the tech. Hopefully the kid kept her head down and wasn't noticed."

Superman nodded, glancing slightly at Question before speaking. "All right. J'Onn, Batman, GL and I will take the planet. Wonder Woman and Flash, Siberia, and the Question, Arrow and Canary, Canada."

Green Arrow looked somewhat less than enthused, but nodded. The Question, however was still a moment. It would certainly be nice if Canada was all the farther she'd gotten. Even Siberia would be fine. And if she were there, then it would be all the sooner that he'd know she was safe, if he stayed planetside. However, an optimist he was not. He feared his partner had ended up offworld, and that she could be in quite a bit of trouble at the moment, and he disliked the idea of not going . . . still . . . He sighed, finally, and nodded. "Let's go then." He said, turning and heading out before anyone could respond.

Green Arrow gave Superman a stare. "You owe me." He muttered, following the conspiracy theorist.

Flash, on the other hand, grinned. "I owe you." He smirked, dashing off after Wonder Woman, cheerfully.

J'Onn waited until the Question was out of earshot, and frowned. "We should move quickly. If the Latheans discover an alien in their midst, they will likely want information . . . and may force the issue."

Green Lantern nodded slightly. "Let's hope she's just in Canada or something. I wouldn't mind a wasted trip if that were the case."

Batman stood. He'd been quiet since things had begun. J'Onn had an idea that he was fond of the girl, who'd shadowed him quite a bit when she'd first joined the group. She idolized him, joked that she wanted to be Batman when she grew up. It was clear she'd done her homework as well, and was commendably dedicated to improving herself. Batman had worked with her, found her sharp and resourceful, very quick to follow orders, and eager to learn.

"Let's go." Said Batman, shortly, heading quickly toward the ship. "The sooner we get there, the better."

The Canada group took the Question's car, which didn't immediately sit well with him, but there was little alternative. The drive would be a few hours, and promised to be awkward as hell. No one spoke for a very long time, the only sound that of the tires on the road and the constant thrum of the radio. It was late, and Coast to Coast a.m. was on, the dial already set to the correct station. Foxglove enjoyed the show as much as Question did, and was a good bit of the reason they'd hit it off so well their first time out together. They'd been so absorbed in discussing the conspiracies and paranoia featured in the show that they'd very nearly missed their target and defeated the purpose of their stakeout. For now, he found the murmuring voices soothing, and took comfort in the fact that he already was fully aware of the link between software distributors and earthquakes in California.

Green Arrow was the first to break the silence. He'd been sitting in the front seat, staring out the window as the Question drove at unsafe speeds and the radio droned on, and he didn't think he could take it much longer. He glanced over at the Question, frowning. "Look, can we at least find a music station?" He asked.

The Question was silent for a moment, and shrugged. "No boy bands." He said. "Subliminal messaging encoded in the music. Gets it stuck in your head and renders you susceptible to brainwashing by the government."

Arrow cast a glance in the back seat at Black Canary, who gave him a blank look. He shrugged. "Fair enough. I prefer classic rock myself." He said, finding a decent station.

The blank face turned toward him fractionally for a moment. "Agreed." He said.

Canary smiled slightly at Arrow, and leaned forward, propping her chin on the back of his seat. "At least we're in agreement on that." She said, glancing back and forth between them. "How about Foxglove?"

There was a momentary pause, and Question shrugged, though his voice was slightly tight. "Varies. She's . . . eclectic. Generally it's easy to find something to agree on."

Canary glanced at Arrow again, and took a breath. "Look . . . Question . . . Wherever she ended up, I'm sure she's fine."

The Question was quiet a long moment. "I hope so."

The worry in his voice caused another awkward silence, broken by guitar on the radio. Grasping for something to talk about, Green Arrow pointed to an empty Starbucks cup in the cupholder. "I thought you said something about that particular chain being involved with your giant conspiracy." He said, hoping to break the tension.

"It is." Came the crisp reply. "However that pertains to the money, property, and intelligence changing hands. Thus far the products are uncompromised." He paused. "And Foxglove likes their mochas."

xXxXxXx

She woke up stiff from cold, the pain across her back faded slightly, but new aches had blossomed along her ribs, on her wrists. She winced, taking a slow breath. She was covered by the half of the blanket she hadn't been lying on, and was certain she hadn't done it herself. Grateful, she pulled it around her, closing her eyes again and shivering.

She'd slept only fitfully, she guessed a couple hours at most, and that out of exhaustion. She ached for sleep, for comfort, for warmth. Instead she heard boots against metal, the screech of an opening door. She put up as much of a fight as she could when they came for her, but it didn't help.

This time, there was no 'good cop'. This time it went on until she passed out, and was shaken awake, questions shouted at her. It took everything she had, every mental resource, every scrap of will not to tell them what they wanted to know. And then it started over again. She was sobbing, unable to bite it back when they stopped whipping her for the last time. 'Good Cop' was back, tipping her head up, looking down at her.

"You're a mess." He said, quietly. "Is it really worth all this? For a tiny, insignificant scrap of information? That's it. That's all. Anything you want to tell us. Even something that won't be much benefit. Otherwise . . . well, I already have the execution order. Tell us something and we'll get you medical treatment, we'll feed and clothe you . . . we'll take care of you . . . "

She panted, raggedly, looking up at him. She wanted it to stop. She couldn't take it . . . not anymore. Just . . . tell them something and it would be over. She swallowed, her throat dry. It would be over . . . until they wanted more. And they'd have already broken her. She sobbed, closing her eyes. One way or another, it had to end. She looked up, slowly, took a breath. "Go to hell."

The man sighed, shaking his head. "Throw her in her cell. There's too many damn rumors about an alien invasion to wait much longer. Public execution this evening." He said, looking down at her a last time. "Remember. I gave you a choice."

It was almost a relief to be thrown back into the cell, despite the cold metal against her bare skin. Fresh blood trickled down her back, her legs, and everything was pain. She closed her eyes. She couldn't fear the execution. Part of her almost welcomed it.

The door opening jarred her out of a doze. Someone kneeled, placed the threadbare blanket over her. She turned her head a little to look up at a young guard. "You did that before." She said, quietly. "Thank you."

He looked a little startled, and nodded, frowning. "I . . . they gave back your clothes. For the . . . " He trailed off. "I . . . I'll try to come in and help you later. When no one's around." He said, quietly, glancing back over his shoulder. He left a pile of black fabric on the floor next to her, as well as her boots, and left the room, quickly.

Foxglove sighed, softly. She hadn't expected an act of kindness in this place, and didn't want him to be punished for it. She forced herself up, ignoring the pain, ignoring the fresh bleeding. She'd dress herself if it was the last thing she did, she thought, and giggled unstably, realizing it likely would be.


	4. Chapter 4

_Welcome back! This update is a slightly short chapter, but with a bit of action, so I hope everyone enjoys! Thanks to Shiva in particular for reviews (two of them, thanks so much!!!) and kind words :)  
_

_I forgot to mention in my last chapter, that the radio show Question was listening to is, in fact, a real one. You can reach the website at coast to coast am dot com (all one word, for some reason the document kept eating it when I wrote without spaces!). I quite enjoy the show myself, and it's almost certainly the type of thing I can see Vic listening to, if only to critique . . ._

_Anyhow--all the usual warnings apply, I own nothing but Foxglove, yadda yadda, please don't sue.  
_

* * *

They'd relied on J'Onn to go into the city once Lantern's ring showed day-old tracks from the site of transport to what appeared to be a struggle, and Foxglove's broken communicator. They camouflaged the ship, and the group waited with some apprehension as the shape-shifter slipped unnoticed into the city to learn what he could. The alien minds were difficult to read, and he ended up wandering, listening for any scraps of information. It was clear that Foxglove had been transported here, clear from the tracks that she'd been alive and unharmed enough to travel a good distance on her own. Batman guessed by the gait she'd been jogging. Now all that remained was to find out what happened after that. 

What he heard was not encouraging, and the Martian was grim when he rejoined the others, a few miles outside the city. He shifted back into his customary form before speaking.

"Rumors are rampant about an alien spy taken into custody and brought to the city yesterday." He said.

"Spy? Why do they think . . . ?" Began Superman.

J'Onn frowned. "It was the initial assumption, and has apparently been confirmed by the ruling parties. It has been announced that there will be a public execution of the alien spy this evening."

Green Lantern swore, and Batman narrowed his eyes. "How long?"

"Little more than one hour." The Martian replied, frowning. "And it is my impression that prisoners are not treated . . . gently."

Superman's fists clenched. "We have to get her out of there . . ."

Batman frowned. "Rather than storming the government building, we'd probably have the best luck stopping the execution wherever it's going to be held, if we know the layout . . ." He looked to J'Onn, who nodded.

"I thought you might ask. I shall make a diagram."

It was Batman who took over from there, making the plan and delegating instructions. No one argued; this was his arena entirely, and if anyone could plan things and create a favorable outcome, it was him.

xXxXxXx

It took nearly all of the time she had left just to get dressed, to force her muscles to work, to wait out the new and different pain that flared every time she moved. When the guard finally slipped in to help her, she'd done all but knot her boot laces. He looked momentarily surprised, but knelt, knotting them deftly as she panted.

"Thank you . . . ?" She cocked her head.

"Kalen." He said, giving her a small smile.

She inclined her head. "Foxglove." She said, leaning against the wall with a soft whimper, and swallowed. Her throat was dry; they hadn't given her anything to drink since her arrival, she was dehydrated. "How long do I have?" She asked, finally.

The young man frowned slightly, looking down. "Not long." He said, quietly. "I . . . I'll be taking you to the platform soon."

She nodded a little, eyes closed. She was too hurt, too exhausted to try to fight. "Understood." She said. "I'm not planning to try to run, and I'm not going to make you drag me."

Kalen nodded, sighing softly. "I'm sorry . . . " He said, quietly.

She shrugged a little, tiredly, and smiled, though she knew he couldn't see it. "Thank you." She said, softly.

He nodded a little. "Is there . . . anything I can do for you? If . . . I ever end up where you're from . . . is there someone I can give a message to?"

She paused, eying him silently for a long moment. It could easily be a trick. More interrogation in the guise of kindness. She took a breath. "If you end up there," she said, slowly, "it'll be obvious with whom I associate. Tell my friend in black, and the Martian . . . thank you." She said, quietly, and paused for a long moment. "And . . . tell the man without a face . . . I loved him." She said the last softly, surprised at herself. It was the first thing that came to mind to say.

The young guard blinked, clearly not sure what to make of this, but he nodded. "I'll tell them." He said, softly, squeezing her hand. "And . . . I'll tell them you were a credit to your people, and died with honor."

She smiled, letting it show in her voice. "Thank you Kalen. You've been . . . kind. I didn't expect that."

He gave her a small, sad smile. "We don't all see war and spies at every turn." He said, and glanced up, frowning. "I . . . have to take you." He said, quietly. "I can help you . . ." He stood, offering a hand.

She took it, pulling herself up, straightening her back and biting back a moan. She took a breath, squaring her shoulders, keeping her head high. "I'm ready." She said, finally.

xXxXxXx

The city square was full of spectators, around the long, white platform that jutted from the central building. They watched from balconies in surrounding buildings, windows . . . everyone seemed to want to get a look at the alien. At the far end of the platform, four soldiers stood in a row, hands clasped behind them, weapons on their hips. Batman frowned under his cloak, eying the setup from his vantage point on a nearby porch. J'Onn's description and diagram had been quite accurate. "In position." He muttered into his communicator.

Green Lantern was on a balcony with a clear view of the platform from behind the firing squad, the two white posts they faced unobstructed. "In position on the balcony." He said, quietly.

Superman floated discreetly above, a bit too far to be seen clearly by the crowd below. "Ready and waiting." He frowned. "I can't believe these people want to see this . . . "

J'Onn, standing in the crowd near the platform, frowned. "Many cultures have such . . . regrettable fascinations." He said, quietly.

They fell silent as a hush filled the square. There was little ceremony, only silence as doors opened, and the prisoner led out toward the platform. Foxglove didn't have her usual black coat on, and her hair was tangled, ragged. She walked with her head held up, her back straight, hesitating only briefly at the stairs leading up the platform before climbing them, slowly and deliberately.

"She's injured." Murmured Batman, eyes narrow, watching the stiff deliberateness of her gait, the tightness of her arms against her body. "J'Onn, just grab her, the rest of us will cover. She doesn't look able to run."

J'Onn watched, brow knit with worry as she raised her arms, slowly, not fighting the young guard who cuffed her wrists to the posts, leaving her between them. She sagged, briefly, tiredly, before raising her head, squaring her shoulders again. There was a sheen of moisture in places on the back of her black shirt. "Extract and retreat." He said, quietly, an edge to his voice.

Foxglove panted softly, exhausted, but straightened, slowly. She could hold herself up for another minute or so. She could keep her head held high, at least until they killed her. She barely heard it when the execution order was read, the soldiers were ordered to present arms. She took long, slow breaths. She was afraid, but only for a moment. She didn't want to die, but at least the pain would stop. At least she hadn't broken. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and closed her eyes as the soldiers aimed at her chest. She wanted to rest. As the call to fire sounded, she thought about her partner.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard the shouts of alarm, and realized that nothing had struck home. It took a moment to figure out what the translucent green wall in front of her was, and she looked up, startled to see Green Lantern floating above, his ring casting a protective shell in front of her. In the next second a tall, green skinned man was tearing at her bonds, freeing her wrists.

"J-J'Onn . . . " She said, softly, reaching for him, and finding herself scooped easily into his arms. She was too light-headed to feel much pain.

"It's over, little one. I have you." He said, gently, cradling her in his arms, already moving swiftly.

"J'Onn . . . " She whispered, letting her head fall against his chest, hand grasping weakly at him, gratefully. There was more she wanted to say, but her strength was at an end, and she let herself fall into darkness.

It was absolute chaos in the square. The rescue had been unexpected, the powers displayed by the rescuers caused panic. Before the firing squad could think to turn their weapons on Green Lantern, they were knocked from the platform forcefully by a blue and red bolt from the sky. More guards were incapacitated by Batman, who swung off the balcony into them, landing in a pool of black cape on the ground. He rose slowly, glaring around him, and the civilians scattered.

Coming off the platform, J'Onn found himself face to face with the young guard who'd led Foxglove to the platform. His orange eyes narrowed, warningly, but the young man shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned away, shrugging. "Not my problem." He said, but turned back with a little smile. "Good luck, Foxglove." He said, quietly, and walked away, tossing his gun to the ground. J'Onn smiled very slightly, even as he started moving.

They headed swiftly to the gates of the city, using the surprise and chaos they'd caused to 'get out of Dodge' as Superman put it. Most of the aliens decided, prudently to stay out of the way. A few guards and patrolmen gave them problems on the way out, but were dealt with swiftly and easily. In all, it was a clean extraction, and Superman had their ship in the air before ground troops even reached where it had landed.

J'Onn placed Foxglove gently on one of the beds, on her side. Behind the mask, he couldn't tell if she'd regained consciousness yet. He looked worriedly at his forearms, smeared with blood where he'd carried her. "Batman. The mask, please."

Batman nodded, quickly deactivating the defenses on her mask, and drawing it off, not surprised as the long, black hair came with it. She was pale, wavy brown hair plastered to her forehead, her cheeks. Her features had an Asian cast that showed her mixed heritage. There were tracks on her face where tears had carried away her makeup, and a bruise was blossoming on her jaw. He touched her shoulder. "Mariko. Can you hear me?" He said, softly.

Dark eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "Batman?"

Batman frowned a little. "You're safe now." He assured her, looking up at J'Onn. "Can you tell what happened?" He asked, quietly.

J'Onn nodded a little, placing a gentle hand on the girl's cheek. He dipped just a little into her mind, and gasped, wincing and pulling away as if he'd been burned. "They . . . tortured her. Beatings . . . she was whipped . . . they wanted information about Earth . . . " He shuddered, smoothing her hair, gently, his brow knit with worry and sadness. "She didn't give in." He said, quietly.

Batman frowned, nodding a little. According to his quick assessment, she was bleeding, exhausted, but in no danger of dying as long as they got her back to the Watchtower soon. He prepared a painkiller for her, and she woke briefly when he injected her. J'Onn didn't immediately recognize what she said, but Batman replied, easily, in a quiet tone that seemed to soothe her. He glanced up. "Mariko Campbell." He said. "Japanese mother, that was her first language. I told her she was going to be fine, and that she should sleep." He said. "Do you mind staying with her?"

J'Onn shook his head, taking a seat and placing a hand over hers. "That is fine. Please make haste." He said, quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

_Back again with another installment! Thanks for everyone who's been reading and especially for the reviews (thanks sooo much Shiva especially!!!). A bit more of the Question in this section, and a bit of fluff. Only one more chapter after this, but I'm working on a sequel called **Question Reality**. Look for it soon after this is done._

_Anyhow, on with the show, I don't own anything but Foxglove etc. I have no money. Please don't sue. You'd only be disappointed._

* * *

The drive back from Canada was unpleasant.

They'd found the coordinates they'd been supplied, found several floor tiles and chunks of concrete that shouldn't have been in the middle of the forest. There were, however, no tracks, and no indication of anything other than the floor being transported. This prompted the Question to stalk off, muttering to himself for several minutes before he returned to the group, silently, and led the way back to the car.

Canary tried to lighten the mood a bit, mentioning that they'd be getting a call any time from Wonder Woman and Flash, and Green Arrow likewise tried to be encouraging. It was hard to tell if there was much good done, though the faceless man wasn't quite as tense as he had been initially.

Once they got the call from Wonder Woman, however, it was hard to be optimistic. Canary tried, mentioning that the best of the best were heading out to wherever Foxglove had ended up, and even Green Arrow agreed, but there was little reaction from the Question. When he started muttering to himself again they gave up entirely, and just spent their time hoping he didn't crash the car.

On their arrival back at the Watchtower, he stalked off toward his room. "Inform me immediately when they get back." He barked. Arrow was too surprised by the tone to argue.

Canary frowned. "I'm leaning toward saying he likes her." She said, quietly.

"You think?" Arrow smiled at her to soften his sarcasm.

She gave him a glare, but leaned against him when his arm circled her shoulders.

Two hours of trying to concentrate on a lead he'd been chasing gave Question nothing but a headache. Nothing was ever easy, he knew that. He should have insisted on going with Superman's team. He tapped his fingers on the table, angrily. Too long, they were taking too long. He loosened his tie and started pacing, agitated. His partner . . . his friend . . . could still be fine, likely she was, in fact. They'd have a long talk about getting too close to Lexcorp tech in the future, that much was certain. He sighed, staring out of the window and into space. He wanted her back, and safe. Distantly he felt the rumble of a ship docking, and a split second later he was racing up the hall toward the hangar.

xXxXxXx

On arrival J'Onn scooped up Foxglove and made for the medbay with all the speed he dared, leaving everyone else behind in the ship. Superman sighed, stretching. He was glad it was over, glad the outcome had been . . . favorable in the end at any rate. J'Onn seemed to think the girl would be fine, physically. And Batman had asserted she'd suffer no ill effects mentally, after some time to process.

The remaining three of the team made their way off the ship as support crews came in to secure it, and gather up the bloodied linens from the bed, GL pausing to reassure the young man gathering them that they hadn't lost anyone. Batman wasn't particularly surprised when the Question dashed into the hangar, and quickly up to him. The faceless man paused, his head tipped down at Foxglove's mask in Batman's hand.

"What happened?" His voice was tense.

"She's going to be fine. J'Onn's taken her down to the medbay." Batman was direct; playing around the issue wouldn't help matters. "She's been tortured. They mistook her for an alien spy, at least that was the official story. But the important thing is, she's alive, and she'll be fine."

The Question paused a long moment before looking up. "Thank you." He said, quietly, with a bit of strain to his voice, and headed out of the hangar in the direction of the medbay.

They were forced to cut Foxglove's costume off her to begin treating her wounds. In addition to the swelling bruise on her jaw she had several across her left side, over three cracked ribs, and lesser tissue damage. By far the worst was her back, hips and legs. She was a mass of welts, cuts, and deep bruises that kept the staff busy with tissue-knitters for some time. On her shoulderblades the wounds had bitten deep, nearly to the bone in places. J'Onn found the state she was in deeply upsetting, and the thought of her treatment angered him greatly. He couldn't fathom being so deliberately cruel, and his brush with her mind had unsettled him.

Once the tissue-knitters had done what they could, a nurse cleaned the blood off her, dressed her in a clean hospital gown, sponged her face, smoothed her hair, and in the process woke her. She regained consciousness disoriented, frightened, and ready to fight until J'Onn abandoned the computer where he'd been monitoring her condition, and went to her. Foxglove clung to him, her heart hammering, little whimpering cries escaping softly from her throat.

There was nothing for it but to wrap his arms around her, cradling her gently to his chest and stroking her hair, murmuring softly in Martian. The words didn't matter, only the soft, soothing sound of his voice as he talked her back from the edge of panic, like soothing a child from a nightmare. He closed his eyes, smoothing her hair slowly and promising she was safe, that the monsters were gone. He sensed her partner pacing outside, but chose to wait until she was calm, until the nightmares were far enough gone. It wouldn't do either of them good for the Question to see her in such a state. Slowly, the trembling stopped, her breathing slowed, and she looked up at him.

"You came for me." She said, softly, as though she didn't entirely believe it had happened.

J'Onn smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead, lightly. "Always, little one." He let her go, slowly, helping her to lay back on the pillows, and pulling the blanket over her, warmly. "You need rest, and food."

Foxglove winced a little. "I'm not very hungry right now, J'Onn . . . "

He gave her a stern look. "Nevertheless. You need food. I shall bring it . . . and if you eat a sufficient quantity I may be persuaded to bring sweets."

She gave him a crooked little smile. "Okay dad, if you're going to use the dessert threat, I guess I'll eat."

He returned her smile, albeit a little wistfully. "Good. You have a visitor if you are up to a short visit. Your partner is outside in a state of some agitation. We were not certain where you might end up, and he is recently returned from a mistaken trip to Canada to retrieve you."

Foxglove blinked, and nodded a little. "Q . . . s-sure." She said, softly.

J'Onn smiled a little, and exited, looking to the faceless man who stopped pacing in the hallway and stared at him, expectantly.

"Foxglove is awake if you wish to see her. For a short visit." J'Onn said, firmly.

The Question hesitated slightly. "Is she . . . " He began, softly.

The Martian nodded. "She is weak, and needs rest and food. But she will be fine." He paused, giving the Question another severe look. "A short visit." He repeated, and swept off down the hall.

Foxglove looked pale, her hair mussed and . . . short, a bruise purpling on her jaw. Her eyes were sunken, centered in dark circles. She looked terrible, but smiled a little as he entered the room. "Hey, Q." She said, softly.

He approached, and paused, a bit awkwardly, before sitting in the chair next to the bed. "Good to see you."

She gave him a small smile. "It's good to see you too." She said, softly. "Good to see anyone, but . . . it's really good to see you."

He wasn't entirely certain how to take that . . . as friendship or . . . He cleared his throat, and took her hand, a little hesitantly, and was rewarded with a gentle, steady grip. "I'm glad you're all right." He said, quietly. There were ligature marks around her wrists, bruised, rubbed raw even after being treated. Batman had told him she was tortured, but nothing beyond that, leaving his imagination in a very dark place. "You . . . are all right . . . ?"

Foxglove smiled a little, her expression hard to read. "Yes." She said, softly, dark eyes fixed on him. "I'm all right now."

It was a long moment before he realized his hand still held hers, that they'd been staring at each other, silently. J'Onn returning from the cafeteria broke the quiet, and he reluctantly let her hand go. A nurse he hadn't even noticed being in the room helped Foxglove to sit up, raising the head of the bed and placing a pillow behind her. She winced at the movement, with a soft hiss of pain, but covered it with a little smile, and soft thanks to J'Onn as he set a tray before her. She looked at the Question with an almost shy smile. "Seems . . . you have me at a bit of a disadvantage." She said, softly, pushing her hair back. "Batman took my mask off." She gripped his hand again. "Mariko."

He squeezed back, gently. "Vic."

He stayed with her, making small talk as she ate, wresting a promise from her to stay at least a hundred feet away from Lexcorp tech in the future, particularly if said equipment were damaged. She laughed, that relieved him a little. She was subdued, but . . . not changed. Still, she was tired, that much was clear, and winced occasionally when she moved. Eventually she'd eaten 'enough' as decided by J'Onn, who gave her some oreos, as promised, making her smile a bit. She was yawning in earnest when the nurse lowered the bed, settling her, and J'Onn told the Question, rather gently, that she needed rest.

He nodded a little, standing. "That's my cue. I'll see you tomorrow . . . Mariko." He said, gently.

She smiled, sleepily and nodded. "See you then, Vic . . . " her hand found his for a moment more, before her eyes slid closed, and J'Onn walked with him to the door.

He couldn't stand it anymore. The uncertainty, the imagined horrors. He paused, not quite looking at the Martian. "What did they do to her?" He asked, finally.

J'Onn paused, frowned slightly. "Are you . . . certain you wish to know?"

The Question shook his head. "No, I don't. But . . . unless I know I don't think I can stop imagining things that aren't going to let me sleep through the night."

J'Onn nodded. "They either took her for a spy, or for a potential source of information on a world to conquer. She was beaten . . . they broke three of her ribs, and she was whipped . . . badly. The wounds were multiple and deep." He paused a moment. "Even so . . . it seems she refused to speak. We rescued her from what was to be an execution by firing squad." He said it gently, but matter-of-factly, his orange eyes on the shorter man.

He was glad for his mask, despite the fact that the Martian would sense his response to the words. A swell of anger that someone had harmed his partner, a sick pitch to his stomach at what she'd been through. At least the uncertainty was gone. At least the awful speculation could stop. As bad as knowing was, it was better than imagining. He paused a long moment until he was sure he could control his voice. "Thank you." He said, finally. "Thank you for getting her."

The Martian cocked his head slightly, with a small, sad smile. "Did you imagine that we would not, if it were in our power?" He said, gently. "You have not slept since this began. I would suggest it."

The Question paused and nodded slightly. "I suppose." He said, quietly. It was true, admittedly, he hadn't even thought of resting since his partner had vanished, and that had been in the evening . . . he'd been awake for nearly two full days.

Back in his room, sleep came quickly. His partner . . . his friend . . . was safe.


	6. Chapter 6

_Welcome to the last chapter of **I Come In Peace**. This one ended up being rather longer than usual as I couldn't really cut it in a manner I found satisfactory. So here it is. The M-Rated stuff is at long last in this chapter, as well as my idea of the most romantic gesture possible for a paranoid :)  
_

_ Thanks so much to those who have read. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks particularly to Shiva the Sarcastic for kind comments and encouragement._

_If you enjoyed this story, please keep an eye out for another story I'm working on, Question Reality, which is a sequel and seems like it's going to end up getting very long. (I hope so anyhow!)_

_Anyhow, on with the show. As always, I own nothing but Foxglove, am making no money, and suing me would be a waste of time.  
_

* * *

J'Onn kept Foxglove in the infirmary for a few days, primarily to prevent her from running right back out on patrol and aggravating still-closing wounds and still-knitting ribs. She was surprised at the number of visitors she got. Superman brought daisies, Flash a small, soft stuffed fox (wearing a tiny Flash button), and even Batman stopped in to speak with her. Most intriguing was Green Arrow, who commented that he hoped she never vanished again because it made the Question crazier than he already was, but didn't elaborate. 

Her partner visited usually more than once in a day, in the evening staying until he was ejected by staff or she fell asleep. She thought more than once of telling him what her message for him would have been, but each time held back for another moment.

On the third day of forced rest, she was feeling edgy. Books and magazines didn't hold her interest, she'd slept far too much already, and she itched terribly as new skin healed across the whole of her back. Her body ached for activity, but J'Onn had been quite firm, and even threatened a restraint field and no more cookies if she didn't stop getting up to go to the restroom every five minutes just to take a walk. So she tried to lay still and be good, she was assured it was only until the next morning, after all. By then the tissue knitters would have done their job, and the nurses had told her that despite what it looked like now, scarring would be minimal once new skin faded and toughened up a bit. She was glad for that; as few reminders as possible were what she hoped for.

She also hoped J'Onn was right when he said that the nightmares would become more infrequent with time. So far she'd woken two or three times a night, once so panicked J'Onn had felt it from the docking bay. That had been the worst night so far, J'Onn had held her for over an hour as she sobbed and shook, and clung to him. She'd finally drifted off in his arms, to a soft, Martian lullaby. It was hard to let herself take comfort in that. She'd always prided herself on handling her own affairs, emotional or otherwise. Her father had killed himself when she was a child–she didn't remember what it was like to be soothed from a nightmare, to be cared for. She'd had to care for herself. Weirdly, though . . . once she quieted the voice that wanted to isolate herself, harden herself . . . the Martian felt like a dad. Perhaps it was just the way things had to be for those who put on costumes to fight crime. Family . . . couldn't hope to be traditional, or necessarily by blood, or even planet, it seemed. She had to smile, taking stock. A dad who was a Martian, big brother was from Krypton, Uncle Batman was . . . well, human as far as one could tell, big sister was an Amazon, kid brother could move near light speed, and she was in love with a man without a face. Trying to imagine Thanksgiving kept her quiet and still for an entire hour, much to the staff's relief.

The Question came bearing a gift that evening. He looked mildly ruffled, she noted, and entered the medbay carrying a 'to go' cup with a brown cardboard wrap. Steam rose out of the lid, and the aroma was familiar, as was the logo on the side of the cup.

"Here you are." He said, simply. "You complained you couldn't get them up here." He handed her the cup.

Foxglove blinked. The Question was . . . usually unpredictable, but this . . . she stared at the logo on the cup, then blinked up at him. "You . . . went to Starbucks?" She asked, not entirely believing it.

He cleared his throat. "Yes."

She stared at him. "You . . . went inside?"

He sat down, brushing off his sleeves, straightening his tie, and cleared his throat again. "I . . . yes. Is that really so surprising?"

She paused a long moment. "You . . . usually wait for me outside, with the motor running and the passenger's side door open just in case . . . well of what I've never been clear on, but you insisted so much . . . " She trailed off, and blushed, suddenly unable to quite look at him. "Thank you." She said, softly.

Her partner cocked his head, very slightly. "Of course." His voice was as gentle as she'd ever heard it. She felt like she'd just gotten roses. It was a little hard to know what to say after that, but eventually they were talking again, until the staff shooed him out and insisted she rest.

xXxXxXx

Waiting for the right time began to be almost excruciating. Nearly a week after her return, Fox hadn't mustered the courage, even after the evening he'd braved Starbucks for her. He'd insisted they not jump right back into ambushes and 'hands on' heroing for the time being, for which she was grateful. She continued sleeping poorly, and her body was still working out all its kinks and stiffness. So they did stakeouts, research, reconnaissance, reporting back to the League and generally staying out of the line of fire. It was January, and bitter cold, so his car, warm and dry, was far preferable to traipsing along rooftops or down alleys on foot anyway. A few days into the 'light duty' tactic, it began to snow.

"Great." Said Foxglove, peering out the windshield as huge, wet flakes floated down from the sky, melting on the hood of the Question's GTO, but sticking to the road, sidewalks and trees. She glanced over at her partner, who slowed the car slightly.

"It's going to make a mess of the roads." He observed. The snow was falling hard and fast, and promised to accumulate quickly. "Even the gangs are going to pack it in and settle down with hot cocoa."

She smiled behind her mask. "Hm. That would be a welcome reprieve. Don't suppose we have any more indoor work to do?" She asked, hopefully.

There was amusement in his voice. "Not a fan of snow?"

She chuckled. "Sure. From inside with a hot drink, it's lovely. Out in the stuff . . . " She shook her head.

The Question nodded slightly, making a turn. "I have to agree. I suppose I could put the chains on the tires, but I have to ask myself to what end."

She smirked slightly. "Man after my own heart. So what do we do? Park and call for pickup?"

The faceless man paused a moment, and shrugged slightly. "Could. I do have an apartment near here, however. I have a few items I'd like to go over . . . I also have an assortment of tea if you'd like to join me, though if you'd rather go back to the Watchtower I'll be along later."

Foxglove was glad for the mask, as she blushed at the invitation. "Actually, tea sounds wonderful."

He nodded a little. "Glad to hear it." He said, maneuvering the car through the streets, finally parking in an out of the way lot. She followed him as he led the way, snow caking on her boots, wetly, crunching softly underfoot as they walked. It was beautiful, certainly, the large, soft flakes floating slowly to the ground, blanketing the world in white. Still, it was cold, which made her nose run. With the mask covering her face, it was a situation that would shortly become very unpleasant indeed.

The Question led the way to an apartment building, and around back to a stairwell obscured by shadow and junk. The inside of the building was mercifully warm, and she followed him up several flights of stairs into a hallway, where he unlocked an un-numbered door, standing aside to let her in. It was neat for the most part, but for the area around the computer, full of files, papers, maps, things stuck to the walls and piled around, much like his room on the Watchtower. She stomped the snow off her boots before she entered, and perched on a bar stool at the kitchenette's island. He certainly hadn't done much to decorate the place. The couch and all the other furniture was black. Other than a couple maps, and a poster of Bigfoot, there was nothing on the stark white walls. She smiled, realized he couldn't see it under the mask.

"So is this where you disappear to sometimes?" She asked, as he locked the door, deadbolt, and chain, and keyed a code into an alarm system.

"Hurm. Yes, occasionally when I have work I particularly need to concentrate on." He said, moving into the kitchenette and filling a black teakettle, setting it on the stove. He opened a drawer. "Earl Gray, Irish Breakfast, Green Tea, and a few packets of instant cocoa."

"Is the green tea the bagged stuff?" She asked.

"Certainly not." The Question looked up, almost sounding affronted, holding up a tin labeled in Japanese. "Authentic is all I'll touch. The bagged sort has the antioxidants removed and replaced with compounds that promote caffeine addiction in order to encourage revenue for your favorite coffee chain." He explained.

She couldn't help but smile, fondly, and was again glad of the mask. "All right. But my one mocha a week–"

"Every three days at the very least." He corrected.

"Whatever. It's not going to make or break them, so you're not winning this one." She smiled a bit, shaking her head. "At any rate, since it's authentic, that sounds heavenly."

He chuckled softly, producing a tea strainer from a drawer, and two black mugs. "I know better than to try to divorce you from your fix." He assured her, taking the water off the heat just before it boiled, pouring it slowly through the waiting tea leaves over each cup.

While she was able to drink with the mask on, there seemed little reason to, and she slid it off, setting it aside and pushing her own brown hair back.

"Honey?" He asked, leaving her startled for a split second before she realized he was holding a plastic bear full of amber.

She shook her head. "Nooo, no. I'm a purist, but thanks."

He nodded, handing her the warm mug to wrap her hands around and squeezed the sweet liquid into his own cup. "An . . . old friend of mine always took his with honey. I suppose I got into the habit as well." He explained. "Richard. You'd like him, I think. Perhaps one day I'll drop you off there for a few months of training."

She blew on her tea, swirling the steam, and raised an eyebrow. "Is he going to make me carry buckets of water up and down stairs and smack me in the head with his cane while screaming in Chinese?"

He seemed quite amused by this, and laughed, shaking his head. "The buckets of water . . . perhaps he'd suggest it. The rest I can safely guarantee not."

She smirked, sipping the brew, appreciatively. "All right. That's okay then."

He nodded, then paused a moment, drawing a small aerosol container from his pocket and pausing. "Excuse me . . . " he said, quietly, stepping away a moment. In the spray, his hair faded, lightened, from jet black to warm red, and as she watched, a little surprised, he peeled away his mask and gave her a small smile. "Can't drink with that on."

He was handsome. She'd not really formed much mental picture of what he might look like under the mask; it wasn't all that important and she knew whatever he looked like she'd still find him attractive . . . but this . . . his features were masculine, strong, his eyes deep green. She tried very hard to keep from blushing, and smiled.

He seemed slightly self-conscious as he sat on the bar stool beside her, and gave her a fleeting look, then shrugged. "Well, I never claimed to be handsome." He smiled a bit.

"You are, though." She said, before she could even think to stop herself. She blushed, looking down into her teacup for a moment, embarrassed before stealing a glance back up at him.

He smiled a bit, and said nothing. He didn't really have to. Their silence was companionable, contemplative as they sipped tea side by side. She couldn't recall ever feeling quite as content. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the city, muffling the sounds, whitewashing the streets and cars, glittering in the light of the moon and streetlamps.

After a few long moments, she took a breath. "Q . . . there's . . . something I need to tell you." She said, quietly, swallowing nervously. She couldn't hold out anymore.

He frowned, very slightly and cocked his head, turning to face her. He said nothing just yet, only listened, giving her his attention.

She glanced up at him for a moment, swallowed. "When I was captured . . . there was a guard who was kind to me. He did what he could, which wasn't much, but . . . he wanted to help. He couldn't get me out . . . but he asked me there at the end, if there was anyone I wanted to send a message to, if he ever came in contact with them." She swallowed, staring down into her cup. "I . . . guess in that kind of situation you figure out pretty quickly what's really important to you." She bit her lip for a moment, the memories still raw and horrible.

Beside her, the Question was silent, still. She couldn't quite bring herself to look up at him.

"I knew I was going to die there. And . . . he was giving me the opportunity to say what was most important to me." She took a breath. "I asked him to tell Batman and J'Onn thank you." She swallowed, and finally looked up at him, into his eyes. "But most important . . . I wanted him to tell you . . . I love you."

He blinked, surprised, and for a long and agonizing moment, she thought perhaps she'd find herself calling J'Onn for transport and out a partner, friend, and the man she loved . . . then he smiled, just a little, his hand finding hers on the countertop. "We've been dancing around saying that to each other since you got back. Probably even before you were gone, haven't we?" He said, gently.

She couldn't help it, and let out a shaky giggle. "I . . . know I have." She said.

"Too long." His hand cupped her cheek, tipping her face up, his lips meeting hers, softly.

The forcefulness with which she reciprocated seemed to surprise him a little, and he gasped softly as she crushed her mouth to his, wrapping her arms tight around him. His surprise was only momentary, however, and he pulled her to him, his arms hard and strong around her.

She pulled back, finally, and smiled, taking his hat off him, laying it aside on the counter. "Won't be needing that." She said, softly, and slowly, her eyes holding his, drew off his tie. "Or that . . . "

He smiled a bit. "You seem confident in your outcome."

Foxglove smiled, her shyness slowly leaving her. She kissed him again, slowly, deeply, nuzzled his cheek. "I don't hear you arguing."

He made a soft noise, deep in his throat, his lips soft on her neck. "There's no point in arguing . . . when my partner has her mind made up." His breath was warm on her skin, making her shudder.

"Smart man." She breathed, her hands, impatiently stripped of her gloves, slowly tugging away his coat and jacket.

"That's . . . why the League hired me." He kissed her again, deeply, pushing her coat off her shoulders.

They were in the hallway by now, mouths seeking one another, ravenous, passionate. His vest ended up in the floor there, his shirt just inside the bedroom door. By the time she found herself pressed gently on his bed, Foxglove's shirt had fallen in a black mound on the floor. She arched her back, her hips, helping him to tug off encumbering items of clothing until he pressed against her, warm skin on skin. He kissed her mouth, her throat, her collarbone, his soft, hot mouth caressing her, his strong arms wrapping around her, holding her, his hands finding soft places to explore. She returned his enthusiasm, her hands and lips alternately gentle and passionate, nipping at him, lightly, her nails leaving soft pink marks on his back. Finally when she was almost certain she could endure no more teasing, he settled on top of her, pressing against her, into her with a deep kiss, and she moaned into his mouth, her thighs tight around his waist.

He was slow, gentle at first, his mouth at her ear, murmuring softly. She gasped, moaned and held him close against her, her hands caressing his back, his sides, sliding through his hair, over his neck. He was appreciative, and showed it by turning his attention to her neck, his lips sliding over the pulse there, kissing suddenly aggressively, suckling her throat, her collarbone. Giving in to long-hidden passion, their kisses became more frantic, harder, breath coming in gasps, pants, and whimpers. Everything he did made her body arch in response, which seemed to excite him, encourage him. Finally she could take no more and surrendered to wave after wave of shuddering pleasure, gasping moaning, clutching him to her as, with a groaning gasp, he released as well, pressing hard against her, then relaxing into her arms, kissing her again, slowly. She panted, softly, as he settled beside her, gathering her to him.

"I love you, Mariko." He whispered, kissing her jaw, lightly.

She curled into his arms, closing her eyes with a smile. "I love you too, Vic." She said, softly, knowing she'd never said anything she meant more.

Vic Sage woke late the next morning, with the unaccustomed, but very welcome feeling of someone he cared for curled warmly next to him. He stayed still for a long time, savoring the contentment. Mariko was still asleep, and barely stirred as he got up, stretching, silently finding some jogging pants to pull on. He turned to smile, fondly at her, and his breath caught in his throat.

J'Onn had told him she'd been wounded badly. She'd opened up to him a little . . . told him bits and pieces. Enough to know how much she'd been through. Even knowing, however, didn't prepare him for the scars.

Her back was to him as she slept, there was light from outside now, sun reflecting off new-fallen snow. The long, red slashes of blood-rich new skin stood out sharply across her back, numerous, cruelly crossing over one another . . . He swallowed, ever so gently tracing his fingertips across her skin. They would fade, he knew. The Watchtower's medical facilities were the best. In time the marks would be gone entirely for the most part. But for now . . . he was angry. Angry at the bastards that hurt her, and angry at himself for not having been there to keep her from being hurt. He knew he couldn't have prevented it, but some part of him– an irrational part, he realized– wished he'd been there to stop it. She stirred a little and he smoothed her hair, pulled the blankets over her, gently. He could stand there wishing all day, and it would do nothing but stress him. Better to concentrate on what he could do.

The kitchen was always fairly well stocked–one never knew when one might be forced to hole up for a day or so or, like today, one might be inclined to. He made the coffee strong, scrambled eggs, made toast, and loaded plates and cups on a tray. It felt a bit strange to be going without his mask around someone else. Even when he'd been in the Watchtower's infirmary for several days, as soon as he could breathe properly he'd put the mask back on. It felt strange, but not nearly as worrisome as he might expect. Curious.

Mariko stirred as he entered the bedroom, blinking and sitting up on her elbows, affording him a glimpse before she pulled the covers up over her chest, a little shyly. He smiled. "Good morning." He sat the tray on the bed, handing her a cup of coffee, which she took with a grateful smile.

"Hi." She said, softly, her cheeks pink.

He leaned in on impulse and kissed her mouth, lightly, smiled. "Hi." He whispered, his forehead against hers for a moment. "Hungry?"

She grinned a bit. "Starving."

"Good."

They shared breakfast, and then a kiss, and then another. It was afternoon before hunger forced them to venture back out into the kitchen, Mariko pausing to borrow one of his shirts, which fell to mid-thigh on her, and put her clothes in the wash. They sat on the couch, sipping tea and talking . . . just talking for what turned out to be hours. She was in his arms with her head on his shoulder when they received a call from J'Onn, worried because no one had heard from them since the afternoon previous.

"J-J'Onn . . . " Mariko stammered slightly, her cheeks pink. "I . . . we . . . well it started snowing so we packed it in to do some computer work and . . . " She trailed off, not quite certain how to explain herself. Vic wasn't making it any easier, smiling slightly and offering no suggestions.

There was a very slight pause on the Martian's end. "Ah. I see. Do you need pickup?" His voice seemed . . . carefully neutral even for him.

She blushed. "Ah . . . not right now. I'll . . . we'll probably head back later."

"Understood." Said the Martian, and paused, adding, "Green Arrow wishes to say 'it is about time'. J'Onn out."

Mariko groaned softly, putting a hand over her face. "So much for being discreet."

Vic smiled a bit. "Oh, Arrow isn't the sort to spread rumors. He is, after all, in a relationship with his own partner."

She smiled, looking up at him. "I suppose we'll have to go back soon."

He shrugged. "Likely so. I'm sure not everyone is taking a snow day, after all. And I've been meaning to check out the old Cadmus laboratories for activity–the snow would make it an ideal time."

She sighed, stretching. "Mm. You're right. Mind if I make use of your shower?"

He smiled. "Not a bit. Would you like to go first?"

Mariko looked up at him with a smirk, reaching up and drawing his mouth to hers. "Who said anything about going separately?" She purred, softly, her lips brushing his.

xXxXxXx

Even Batman, who maintained that dating within the team nearly always lead to disaster, had to admit that once the Question and Foxglove's relationship became more than partners, their effectiveness as a team increased. They knew one another well enough to anticipate and adapt to situations together, up to and including a tendency to mutual and silent agreement on who got to be 'bad cop' during questioning.

Slowly, Foxglove's scars healed until they were barely noticeable, and the nights the Question had to wake her from nightmares and soothe her back to sleep became less frequent, and less intense.

The Lathean invasion never came; word from the Green Lantern Corps had it that Foxglove's refusal to break, coupled with the display of considerable power on the League's part during her rescue had made Earth a rather less than attractive target, which suited everyone fine.

The months that followed were relatively quiet, affording abundant opportunities for the conspiracy buffs to chase leads and gather information.

"Are you in yet?" The Question was prowling the streets in his GTO, slowly, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be arriving should Foxglove trip a silent alarm. So far, nothing.

"Yes. Downloading already." Fox's voice came over his communicator. "When I get back you're going to have to explain to me why we're breaking into a Baskin Robins packing center and downloading recipes, Q, because I have no idea why I let you talk me into this."

"It'll take a bit to explain. It has to do with the thirty-second flavor, I've been working on this for some time and have only just managed to fit it into the larger picture." He explained, scanning the clear, icy streets.

"I admit I didn't expect quite this much data. Over a terabyte already."

"Hmm. Interesting." He said, thoughtfully. "There may be more going on than anticipated."

There was a slow sigh on the other end. "I also wish to add that it's freezing in here."

"We'll make your usual stop as soon as we're through here."

"Good man. I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"Aside from my devastating intelligence and enigmatic, brooding presence?"

She chuckled. "Never underestimate the power of a well-timed cup of coffee."

There was a pause as he turned a corner. "So. What are you wearing?" He smiled a little under his mask, teasing her.

". . . Black costume . . . mask . . . coat . . . same thing as when I left the car three minutes ago."

He laughed. "Ah. Someone told me I was bad at this, but I suppose you aren't much better."

The amusement in her voice was tangible. "And the tiniest purple silk lingerie you've ever seen underneath."

He cleared his throat. "Ah . . . oh. Is that . . . transfer done by any chance . . . ?"

She chuckled. "Yes. I'm on my way out. I'm going to assume that searching through the data can wait until later, unless you think it would be more interesting than investigating my claims."

The Question smiled as he maneuvered the car to pick her up. "Not at all. I have to reassure myself that my partner is being honest. Little paranoid quirk, you know."

He couldn't see her smile as she got into the car, but knew it was there. "Well then. Let's go give you some peace of mind."

The GTO roared as they headed away from the packing plant through the fresh snow.


	7. Alternate EndingOh noes!

_"Seijaku, your story said 'The End'. What's this nonsense adding another chapter?" Well I'll tell you. _

_When I wrote I Come In Peace I was having a bit of a period of depression. And as such I felt the need to be dismal as possible, and wrote this alternate ending. Obviously this is not the official end, but thought I'd toss it up there for curiosities sake. And to announce to those who were interested in this story, that I'm posting the sequel (Question Reality) forthwith! Yay!_

_So without further ado, here's my little slightly emo alternate ending. Aren't you glad I didn't do this?_

* * *

It was six months after Foxglove disappeared that the invasion began. A small blip on the Watchtower's sensors became an alarm; ships, armed, ready, heading towards Earth.

By the time they landed the League had already mobilized. The invaders weren't ready for the resistance they found, but their forces were tenacious, and fought back against the human military with a frenzy, and the League couldn't be everywhere at once.

It was while they were routing a pocket of resistance in Gotham that they met Kalen.

Batman and J'Onn had just called for a regroup, preparing to sweep the next few blocks for any hidden members of the alien army. The Question was marking routes and possible hidden areas on a map. He'd been keeping busy since his partner's disappearance, almost obsessively so, even for him. Taking notes, sketching routes and maps, he always had something to occupy him, something in his hands and on his mind. J'Onn had attempted on more than one occasion to talk to him about it, to no avail.

Before the young, blue-skinned invader could even approach, he was marked, everyone leaping to the defensive, the Flash behind him before he could speak. The young man, startled, put up his hands, showing himself unarmed.

"I-I just want to talk." He said, nervously, glancing at the group. "Y-you were . . . friends of Foxglove, weren't you?"

The Question's hand froze over his map. J'Onn nodded for the young man to approach, and frowned slightly. "Yes . . . you . . . met her?" His voice was careful, tinged with worry.

The young alien nodded slightly, swallowing and approaching, hands carefully where they could be seen. "Yes. My name is Kalen . . . " He said, softly. "Your friend was transported to my planet and . . . captured. I was a guard."

It was Batman who broke the long, tense silence. "What happened to her?" He said it quietly, grimly, glancing once at the still motionless Question.

Kalen frowned, looking away for a moment, and sighed, softly, sadly. "Your . . . your friend was captured as . . . an alien spy. Our government wanted information about your planet . . . to conquer and rule, and extend the empire. They . . . tortured her. And . . . when she wouldn't break . . . " He swallowed, looking down. "They executed her."

"No . . . " Flash murmured, softly, looking about to cry. J'Onn closed his eyes, tightly, head bowed. The Question remained stock still and silent, his hand trembling over his map.

Kalen took a breath. "I think . . . you're what kept her going. Gave her the strength to keep her head high to the end." He swallowed. "Foxglove never broke. She didn't tell them anything. Not even a hint, no matter . . . what they did to her. We had no idea there were such powerful enemies there. They're calling this whole thing a fiasco and a disaster. They weren't prepared because . . . because she kept your secrets. She was a credit to your group and to her people. I . . . wanted you to know . . . She died with her head held high." He swallowed, looking down a moment. "She wanted me to deliver a message. She . . . wanted me to tell . . . her friend in black, and the Martian . . . Thank you." He looked from Batman to J'Onn.

Batman swallowed, a flicker of emotion running through his features before he turned it off, sinking into himself again. J'Onn whispered something soft and mournful before looking up. "Thank you . . . for telling us." His voice was heavy with emotion.

Kalen nodded slightly, and looked toward the Question. "And . . . she wanted me to tell . . . her faceless friend . . . She loved him."

The pen in the Question's hand snapped in half from his grip, and Batman looked up, frowning.

It was easy to forget, under that blank mask, behind the control, the conspiracies and obsession . . . that there was a man, emotional, caring . . . able to feel pain. The Flash, wiping his eyes, took a step toward him, but Batman shook his head slightly and the young man kept his place.

Kalen looked down, quietly. "I . . . wish I could have helped her." He said. "I . . . only joined this invasion so that I would have a chance to deliver that message for her." He looked up. "Please . . . I don't want to fight anymore. I don't even want to go home."

Batman nodded slightly, taking a breath. "We'll take you into protective custody and decide what to do after we're rid of the invaders." He glanced to the others, frowning. "J'Onn, Flash . . . ?"

J'Onn nodded slightly, his expression saddened, but his resolve firm. "I am ready."

Flash took a moment, swallowing hard, his voice a bit shaky. "Yeah. Let's . . . do this."

Batman paused, frowning, and taking a step toward the Question. He'd not said a word, or made a sound, but he was staring down at the map clenched in his hand, the other hand tight around the broken pen. "Question . . . if you . . . "

"I'm fine." The reply was sharp, accompanied by a tightening of his hands. Even without observing his expression, his emotional state was clear.

Batman frowned and nodded, ignoring the worried glances from his teammates. "Alright then. You have your assignments." He said, sweeping off toward the Batmobile as J'Onn nodded, taking to the sky with the young alien, and the Question stalked off, flinging his broken pen aside. The Flash caught up with Batman, frowning.

"Are you sure he's okay . . . ?" He asked, his voice still a bit shaky.

Batman didn't turn back. "No. He isn't."

The Question got into his car, sitting for a long moment staring out the windshield, hands shaking on the steering wheel no matter how hard he gripped it. He took a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the empty Starbucks cup he'd stubbornly left there, telling himself that when Fox came back he'd make her take it with her after their next patrol, since she'd left it in his car . . . He swallowed, closing his eyes.

He couldn't bring himself to believe she was gone. That he'd never again wait outside of Starbucks, motor running, door open just in case, while she went in to pick up her mocha fix. That there would be no more making excuses to do stakeouts so they could listen to talk radio in his car. That he'd never hear her say she loved him.

He swallowed. Alone, in pain, facing death . . . she'd wanted to tell him she loved him. The thought made tight, painful things happen in his chest. She'd loved him. His partner, his friend . . . she was gone . . . and she'd loved him. He took a slow, shaky breath, and slammed his fist on the steering wheel, hard, fast, again and again until he felt his knuckles raw and bloody in his glove, realized the strangled cry he suddenly heard was his own. He panted, the rage and pain almost overwhelming for a long, horrible eternity. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the moisture, and breathed, slowly, deeply, finally straightening, his eyes focusing on the road.

"I love you too, Fox." He said, softly, gripping the steering wheel.

She'd never hear him say it. And he'd never get the chance to say goodbye.

They'd hurt her. Tortured her. And she hadn't broken. He knew her. He knew what kept her hanging on, kept her from saying even a single word. Their safety, hoping the invaders wouldn't risk an unknown. But if they did, she wanted them to be surprised by the League. She'd kept the secrets, so the invaders would step into a minefield. She'd wanted them to have the edge.

The Question took a breath, forced himself to focus, and reached for the ignition, the engine roaring to life. He gripped the wheel, slid the car easily into gear. Foxglove wanted them to win, wanted their power to be unexpected.

His jaw tightened. "Surprise, you bastards." He whispered, and slammed on the gas.


End file.
